Existing
by loveadubdub
Summary: You're not supposed to hate Harry Potter. Hating Harry Potter makes you… a Death Eater maybe. She doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter anyway because the Death Eaters don’t accept Muggleborns, she’s nearly positive... HERMIONE'S POV DH.


EXISTING

* * *

It's cold.

_Too_ cold.

Even after growing up in England and all those winters spent in Scotland, Hermione isn't sure she's ever quite understood the term _blistering cold _until now. The temperature is well below freezing, and the snow that's falling sticks to the ground almost desperately. The small jar of bluebell flames does little to warm up the tent, despite the fact that it's rather small itself.

Harry either doesn't notice the cold or doesn't care. He's sitting up by the flap, keeping a lookout through a little crack. Maybe he realizes it's too cold to sit outside, but he certainly doesn't seem too concerned. She's lying under a pile of blankets, and he's sitting on the ground in a sweatshirt and jeans just staring through the crack. She doesn't even know what he's looking for. That's not surprising, of course, considering the fact that she doesn't even know what the hell they're _doing _anymore. Maybe she never did. Maybe this whole thing was a really fantastic plan in theory but was just plain shit in actuality.

Maybe Ron was the smart one after all.

The thought's almost laughable. She's never once in all the years she'd known him considered the possibility that maybe that prat is more intelligent than her. After all, he has a hard time getting full marks on just filling in his name.

Still, he isn't out here freezing to death, is he?

They talked about it a few times. Before he left. She confessed in confidence that she hadn't expected it to be like this. She'd thought there would be more to do, more action maybe. She'd thought they had a plan. She didn't know it was going to be night after night of starving and freezing and doing absolutely nothing. She even told him she sort of wished she'd just gone to Hogwarts instead.

She didn't expect him to spill her secrets.

That's what she gets, she supposes, for trusting someone too much. He was always the person she trusted the most, even more than Harry, just because she felt like he could _relate _more. As much as he drove her insane and infuriated her sometimes, she always trusted him. Serves her right, doesn't it? This is one of those lessons you've got to learn the hard way, she guesses, and she's certainly learnt hers.

She's just glad she didn't tell him _all _her secrets…

But maybe if she _had, _he'd still be here. If she'd told him _everything, _maybe he would never have had the heart to leave her. Maybe he would have even told her his own secrets. And then instead of lying alone under a pile of blankets, she'd be lying with him. And he would hug her and promise her everything would be alright and make her feel better.

But maybe that isn't his secret at all.

If he loved her, he wouldn't leave her. He _couldn't _leave her. If he knew it was going to feel like this to be away from her… He couldn't do it. So maybe she's wrong. Maybe he doesn't feel that way and never did. Maybe she's deluded herself into thinking that way because no one else wants her. Maybe it's a psychological thing, and she only _thinks _she sees reciprocated feelings because it's the only way she can find self-worth. Or maybe she's been hallucinating this whole time due to lack of food, sleep, clean water, and heat. But that can't be it because she thought it long before she was starving and freezing and filthy. So it has to be that psychoanalytical bullshit or something like that.

She finds it fascinating that her thoughts are so much fouler than her actual mouth is.

Harry is still just sitting on the floor of the tent. He's got her wand and is twirling it mindlessly between his fingers. It's the only protection they've got against whatever it is that's coming to get them. They're just two people with one wand and no clue what they're doing. They were almost killed a few days ago, but here they sit. Just waiting for something or someone to show up and off them. Hermione isn't even sure she cares anymore. She's sick of waiting to die, she'd rather just get it over with.

Unconsciously, she reaches up and fingers the locket around her neck. It's lying on top of her jumper, as she now refuses to let it touch her skin. It very nearly burned a hole through Harry's chest, and even if she has a bit of a death wish, burnt flesh is not her demise of choice. She hates this stupid thing. It's the only thing they've accomplished so far, and it's done nothing but rip them apart. She wishes they'd never found the real one. Then they could just give up, go home, and hope for the best.

This necklace is the whole reason Ron left her. She doesn't know what it made him see, but whatever it was was enough to make him hate her. And leave her. And tell all her secrets. And accuse her of choosing Harry.

Why _didn't _she choose Harry?

Wouldn't it make more sense? Harry is the hero. Harry is the Chosen One. Harry is smarter than Ron and more likeable than Ron and more mature than Ron and certainly _nicer _than Ron. So why didn't she choose him? Wouldn't it be so much easier? Of course, Harry probably wouldn't ever reciprocate her feelings, either, but maybe if she'd got to him before Cho or Ginny or any of the rest of girls did… Maybe he would be with her out of courtesy. It would be better than being alone, wouldn't it?

But she sort of hates Harry.

She doesn't say this out loud, of course, because you're not supposed to hate Harry Potter. Hating Harry Potter makes you… a Death Eater maybe. She doesn't know. It doesn't matter anyway because the Death Eaters don't accept Muggleborns, she's nearly positive. And anyway, she doesn't hate him for the same reason other people might hate him.

She hates him because it's his fault.

She blames Harry more than she blames herself and even more than she blames Ron. Harry is the one who let him go after all. Harry should have left it alone instead of fighting back. Ron was obviously off his nut when it all went down. Harry should have known that and taken a walk. But he didn't. He shouted back and said mean, hateful things. And even when Hermione cried and begged them to stop, he just allowed it to carry on. So it was his fault. And he's still here, so Hermione can blame him more easily.

They barely speak to each other. Sometimes they go for hours without so much as a word. When they _do _speak, it's rarely a full conversation. They talk about the so-called plan. They talk about the locket. They talk about Voldemort. They don't talk about anything else.

They don't talk about Ron, they don't talk about Ginny. They don't talk about school or the Burrow or anything else. It's as if none of the rest of it even exists anymore.

Hermione sort of wishes it didn't.

If none of the rest of it exists, then she doesn't have to wonder if he's out there somewhere thinking about her. She doesn't have to wonder if he feels bad for deserting her and leaving her all alone. She doesn't have to worry about if he's safe or wonder if he's back at Hogwarts. She doesn't _want _to think about any of it, so she just wishes none of it was real.

Wish in one hand and shit in the other… see which one gets full faster.

It's a horribly crude sentiment, and she isn't even sure where she heard it. Something about it sounds exactly like him, though, so she thinks that's probably where. She immediately takes that thought and banishes it from her mind, vowing never to think it again. It doesn't exist.

None of it exists.

* * *

A/N: So that was short! Just a bit of drabble, but it hopped in my brain and refused to get out!


End file.
